


red-letter affair

by beemotionpicture



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Falling In Love, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26898976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beemotionpicture/pseuds/beemotionpicture
Summary: The day that Ferdinand von Aegir falls in love begins, as many good days do, with a fresh, piping hot cup of tea.It is also, coincidentally, one of the worst days of his life.Morning, afternoon, evening. A story in three acts.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Constance von Nuvelle, Ferdinand von Aegir/Constance von Nuvelle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	red-letter affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doreamu_san](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreamu_san/gifts).



> Written as a giftfic. Hope you like it, Shin!

**PART I**

The day that Ferdinand von Aegir falls in love begins, as many good days do, with a fresh, piping hot cup of tea.

It is also, coincidentally, one of the worst days of his life.

  
  
  


“Why, Constance! Lovely morning out, isn’t it?” 

“… Yes, it is.” 

The lady in question turns around, and Ferdinand has to keep himself from stiffening. Constance is in that self-deprecating mood once more it seems, and he can see in her downturned eyes how she begins to spiral, clear as day. 

“Ah…” He falters slightly on his feet, having stood up to greet her. Briefly, he has the absurd thought to pull her quickly into the shade of the gazebo so that the sun would lose its effect; he’s heard that’s what causes her moods to be so fickle.

Perhaps Constance notices because she only lets out a pained sigh. “If only you could have continued on without coming across one such as I. I am surely only putting a damper on what would otherwise be the perfect summer day.”

“No!” he says, sounding strangled. “Of course not. You are always excellent company. In fact,” he says, pulling out a chair beside him, “you must join me for some tea. I insist.”

“I cannot. My demeanor would only spoil its flavor, and your mood along with it—” she utters words upon words putting herself down, but he won’t hear any of them.

“Nonsense. If I remember correctly,” he says with a dazzling grin and a sparkle in his eye, “this tea is one of your favorites as well. The Constance I know could never resist such a sweet treat, not when brewed by someone with such a keen eye for flavor.”

Ferdinand means it as a jest—mere teasing among friends. He expects her to protest but give in just the same—but she does not.

Instead, Constance stills… and moments later, begins to cry.

He is at a loss for what to do. It is not the first time he’d been reduced to helpless around her.

But he has never seen her _cry._

“I have never thought you cruel, Ferdinand,” she says with such profound sadness within her that he cannot help but feel as though he is missing something, “but if you are not being cruel now, then what does it mean that, in the face of your generosity, all I can feel is _worthless?_ ”

He feels his spirit doused in water, ice-cold. “What…? I—I did not mean to offend—” 

“Then, the fault _does_ lie in me. For I am no longer the Constance you once knew, and such simple pleasures no longer bring a smile to my face.”

She does not hurry to dry her tears. Constance stands still as a statue, looking nothing like his old friend, and his heart breaks for her.

When it matters most, he does not know what to say. 

  
  
  


**PART II**

He finishes his tea that morning but finds the brew to be sickeningly sweet.

Unfortunately, the worst day of Ferdinand’s life does not get any better.

  
  
  


Constance confronts Ferdinand later that afternoon. In the Knights Hall, there is no sunlight to temper her anger, and when she strides up to him he’s surprised it’s not to deliver a slap to the face.

“You look _wary,_ Ferdinand.” Her eyes flash, and it’s with a look of something that promises pain. “I merely mean to give you a stern talking to, nothing more.”

He immediately refrains from gulping, because that is _not_ the proper behavior of a noble. Instead, he straightens up for his tongue-lashing. “Of course, Constance. I’ll endeavor to learn from this.”

If the hand on her hip means anything, it’s that she’s unimpressed. With a raised eyebrow, she says, “We’ll see about that.”

He tries not to wilt. 

“I’m sure you are ‘aware’ that I am not myself when under sunlight—that it is just a fit of emotions, perhaps caused by _illness_ or a condition,” Constance spits the words out, as though they leave a sour taste in her mouth. She takes a deep breath, perhaps steeling herself to say something difficult. “It has taken me _years_ to come to terms with the fact that the woman I am in the day _is_ me, for better or worse.”

Ferdinand does not want to defend himself. He just wants to understand. He treads carefully, testing the waters. He is not sure what will offend. “… I see. I apologize for my actions today. I truly did not want to seem as though I’d been trying to force you into anything, and I will try to be more understanding of the differences in your temperament and preferences—”

“ _No,_ ” she snarls, “now it is more obvious that you do not, in fact, see what is right in front of you! You make assumption after assumption with no care for others. _You,_ Ferdinand, are not even worthy of your noble status!”

It stings. More than anything, he is of the belief that he strives to reach the zenith of nobility—that for any missteps, he makes up for it with earnestness to learn.

“That is unfair, Constance,” he says quietly.

An anger simmers in her, and he can tell it has been there for quite a while. It is anger directed at him and him alone, for he has never seen her act this way towards anybody else. 

“It must burn to have someone speak their mind against you, does it not? Do you expect me to stroke your ego when you cannot even _attempt_ to understand when someone criticizes you?”

“You are lashing out at someone who does not wish to fight. Why must you attack my person when all I wish is to afford you the respect you deserve?”

She laughs, dark and bitter. “Oh, but if you respected me one bit, then you would not prefer one side of me to the other.”

“ _Right now, I prefer neither!_ ”

After months of suppressing it, he has finally given in to his anger.

Ferdinand is a patient man. He likes to believe he defaults to kindness before anything else. But Constance frustrates him so, in ways that no one ever has. He just wants to _understand,_ to see things through the lens that she does.

But it is evident that communication will solve nothing, not when they do not even speak the same language.

She means to speak again, he can tell. But Ferdinand, as much as he wants to understand, is hurt.

“That’s enough for today,” he says. He leaves, because he needs time to lick his wounds.

  
  
  


**PART III**

Ferdinand can never hold onto his anger for long, it seems, and soon he feels a guilt gnawing at him that cannot seem to rest.

This is how he falls in love.

  
  
  


In the waning light of the spring evening, Ferdinand leaves his room. A walk would do him good, and it would no doubt clear his mind. Goddess knows he needs all the help he can get to face Constance tomorrow.

And he will face Constance, but only if she allows him to. Only if she herself wanted to. He does not like fighting with others, but _oh,_ does Constance have so much fight in her.

He has always respected her tenacity, her thirst for knowledge, her mischievousness. Ferdinand had seen in her as a child how nobility could exceed expectations, and now in their maturity, he sees the fire in her shine even more brightly. It has not been extinguished by the hardships she has faced—if anything, she’s used that fire to forge a weapon that will make sure she comes out of anything unscathed.

There has never been any doubt in his mind that House Nuvelle would rise again. Constance has shown him that as long as one had breath in their chest, one could breast anything.

The walk leads him, as ever, to her.

For reasons he cannot explain, Ferdinand is unsurprised to see her sitting on the ledge that overlooks the Goddess Tower. Constance looks lost in thought, an ever so slight furrow in her brow that he sees in the faint light. He knows the exact moment she registers his presence, but she does not tense. Instead, she turns her head and beckons him over, and dutifully he sits next to her on the stone.

“It’s cold out tonight,” he says.

“Yes,” Constance responds. “The breeze is wonderful, isn’t it?”

He smiles, gaze directed at the expanse that encompasses the monastery grounds. “It is.”

They sit in silence for a while, content in each other’s presence. When they finally speak, it’s a mutual decision.

“I am sorry for hurting you, Constance.”

She looks more regretful than he has ever seen her. “As am I, Ferdinand.” 

“You know, I did not expect your apology,” he says, and his chest is heavy. Perhaps one would find it strange that it does not feel lighter, but how could it be, as filled with emotion and relief as he is? “The fact that I hadn’t tells me something important.”

She turns to look at him, and her expression is something he cannot decipher. Perhaps he sees a hint of hope, however.

Ferdinand continues. “I do not know you at all, anymore.” It sits in the air, but there is more. “I’ve come to realize that it is not a bad thing.”

She smiles at him, tilting her head. “No?”

“No. What I see now is that it is a new beginning.”

He pauses to think, and Constance waits for him. He is grateful.

“Both of us have changed over the years. The Constance I once knew as a child has grown to be someone I no longer understand, but someone I wish to know. I give you my sincerest apologies for making assumptions as you said,” he inclines his head, “and for desperately clinging to the past.”

“… Thank you.” Her eyes are bright. “That means much to me. More than you know.”

She is different under the moonlight. More mellow than the Constance in the sun, and less uptight than the Constance in the dark. Perhaps it makes sense; after all, is the moon not merely a reflection of the sun’s light, tempered by the night sky? The stars that glitter around it are beautiful, but none of them as much as she is in this moment.

“It is settled then.” He stands up, and she startles slightly, looking curious. Ferdinand gives a low bow, hand over his heart. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

The words dawn on her, and she laughs delightedly. 

He holds his hand out. “And you, my lady?”

She takes it.


End file.
